


CS - A collection of shorts

by DarkSwaan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 20,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSwaan/pseuds/DarkSwaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can You Hear Them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short drabble based on the sneak peak for "Lost Girl." Written from Killian's point of view.

Hook shifted on the ground, the woolen blanket pulled up around his shoulders as he tried to ignore them. It was the crying, the sorrow of the lost children on the island. He'd been listening for what seemed like days, tossing and turning in vain attempt to get some sleep. He would be needing his strength to help find the boy.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement and stilled. The figure got up, unsheathing a sword. Emma. He watched quietly as she spun around, as though looking for something. She stepped towards the direction of her parents.

"Guys!" She whispered harshly. "Guys wake up!"

They did not respond, though Snow White snuggled closer into her prince's arms, his muscles flexing as he unconsciously held her tighter. Hook looked back to where Emma had been standing, but she was gone. Quickly and quietly, he shot to his feet, slinking along the edges of the jungle to where her things lay. There wasn't much, just a dusty old bit of tent to keep her from the dirt and a blanket much like his to cover her. Her pack lay untouched at one end, serving as a makeshift pillow.

The cries of the children grew louder and Hook cringed. He hated the sound, could hardly stomach it. It was one of the things he'd tried to escape from in this land. It was a reminder, after all, of his own history, his own abandonment.

"Where's Henry."

Hook's head snapped in the direction her voice had come from, a little ways into the trees. Drawing his own sword he crept closer, taking care to keep silent. A few feet away, through the thick viridian leaves, he could make out her form, blade holding her target in place against a tree.

"You've got fire! I like fire." And his blood froze in his veins. That was the voice of Pan; he'd know it anywhere.

Emma seemed unafraid though since she merely pushed Pan further against the rough bark. Her voice dropped dangerously and for that moment Hook wasn't sure if he was more concerned for her safety, or her actions.

"Where's my son?"

"He's alive, if that's what you're worried about."

"Where the hell'd you take him?"

"He's a very special boy, Emma."

"I know. That doesn't answer my question. What do  _you_  want with him?"

He could picture her face, eyes sharp and dangerous as they looked into Pan's, unaware of the peril she herself was in. He wanted to rush out and stab the heathen, but he knew the boy was faster and they'd both be dead before they hit the ground. Hook ground his teeth, jaw clenching and hand flexing around the hilt of his sword.

"I came here to see who I was up against," replied Pan, "the  _Savior._ Gotta say, I'm not disappointed."

He knew the smug grin that would be playing on the boy's lips, knew the glee he found in a worthy opponent. And he knew, from the tone of his voice, that he was not after Henry. It was Emma. He wanted Emma.

"What do you say now? Gonna tell me how I'm not gonna see Henry again?" She sounded almost bored with him, as though she'd heard the threat before and had proven it wrong.

"No. I'm going to help you  _find_  him," he seemed almost offended at the statement. "I'll give you a map."

Hook saw Emma step away after a moment, giving Pan room to move again. He knew these tricks, knew Pan would prefer Emma's fight before her failure. He wouldn't hurt her, not now. So Hook walked away, back to their clearing. For a moment he'd forgotten about the cries of the lost children, but with every step he took away from her, the louder they became again. He wondered, briefly, if she had heard them too, if that was what had woken her. A lost girl. Quite a pair they'd make, the abandoned ones. He smiled humorlessly, casting an unfriendly look towards her sleeping parents. He'd never understand it.

Then again, they couldn't hear the cries.


	2. All Hollow's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Killian's first Halloween.

Emma knelt by her son's side, helping him to secure the Iron Man armor around his waist, which was proving to be a bit difficult with his level of excitement. They were still in Mary Margaret's apartment, trying on the kid's costume to make sure it fit. It was the day before Halloween and somehow Emma wasn't surprised it was her son's favorite holiday. They'd spent the majority of the last week decorating the apartment and hall just outside the door, going so far as to have several dried leaf and crumbling flower wreaths hung on the wall in each room. Killian, of course, had just looked at them all as though they'd lost their minds.

"Why are we littering your home with these infernal decorations?" he'd asked her and she'd rolled her eyes.

"It's a  _holiday_  Killian. Don't you have those where you're from?"

His lips had curled back in distaste as the foliage in his arms nearly poked his eye and he shifted them again, managing to scrape Emma instead.

"None that require so much...  _excess_."

And that had been before they'd gotten to the pumpkin carving. Although, admittedly, he had enjoyed that particular tradition, using his hook to sculpt images and faces into the orange meat.

"So, love, what exactly is this holiday celebrating?" he asked once she'd adjusted Henry's armor to her satisfaction and stood back to admire the look, smiling at her son as he grinned up at her and quickly ran into the other room to look himself over in the mirror.

"It's supposed to be a kind of commemoration of the stuff that goes bump in the night. People say that the dead walk the earth on Halloween. They used to believe it. So they would dress up as monsters and witches and ghosts to scare off the angry spirits. I think it used to be called All Hollows Eve actually. Anyways, now people just put on stupid costumes and ask for candy." She glanced at him and her felt as though her heart had stopped.

The look on his face was saturated in grief. His eyes had darkened into pits, jaw set in a tense angle and she regretted her explanation immediately. He must have been thinking of Milah. She couldn't blame him for it, especially when she found herself thinking about Graham.

"There is no magic that can bring back the dead, Swan." Killian's voice had gone low, nearly a growl and for a moment, there peeked out Hook again, all rage and anguish for his lost love. But Emma knew him by now, so she just slipped her hand around his and squeezed reassuringly.

"No. There isn't."

His eyes met hers then, softening a bit. He laced his fingers through hers and brought their joined hands up to his mouth, lips brushing in a whisper soft kiss over the skin of her knuckles. Emma felt the now familiar warmth begin to travel up her spine at the gesture. She wasn't sure she'd  _ever_  get used to this man.

"Thank you, Emma," he breathed out.


	3. All My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is gonna hurt. Fair warning. Based off a post on tumblr that literally made me ball my eyes out.

They'd found Henry.

They'd found him and he'd run straight past her into his mother's arms. Regina's arms. Emma stood stock still, the aching she'd been feeling whenever she and Regina had talked about him growing more intense, threatening to overtake her.

She was drowning.

He'd quickly come back to her, hugged her tight saying, "I knew you'd find me mom!" Her arms wrapped around his small frame shakily. He was the only thing that grounded her at that moment, the only thing that mattered in the whole world.

But he wasn't hers. Not really.

The trip back had been eventful. Turned out Regina had a soul mate, one that still lived. They'd found each other. And Emma watched on, the pain swelling again. He had a son of his own, Roland. Sweet thing. Henry was ecstatic. He'd always wanted siblings, Regina had told her, and Emma had to hide the hurt in her expression.

She didn't know that.

Everything seemed to happen so quickly, Robin moving in with Regina, after some rather angst-filled weeks of coming to terms with their feelings and their fate, Henry wanting to go over more and more, Roland holding his surrogate mother's skirts as she went about her work, smiling down at him with such warmth.

_I could have had that._

And one night, suddenly, she couldn't take it anymore. So she got in her yellow bug and drove. She didn't intend on leaving permanently, no. She just needed some time to herself, away from Storybrooke. Away from Regina and Henry and  _Neal._ God Neal. He'd shown up in Neverland, ragged and pissed. He'd come to save his son. Of course, not long after he arrived they'd found him.

He hadn't run to him either.

And coming back to Storybrooke, he'd tried to rekindle what he'd had with Emma. She tried, for Henry's sake. She really did. But the ache kept her from him, flared up whenever he showed her some kind of affection, a fire threatening to swallow her whole.

 _Doesn't matter,_ she'd thought.  _I can't do it anyway._  And so she drove.

She got a few miles out of the town border before she stopped. She couldn't anymore. She just  _couldn't._  Her knuckles whitened against the steering wheel, her features crushing inwards, giving into the feelings.

Everything.

She'd lost everything.

The tears were like pins in her eyes, slipping down her pale cheeks and plopping onto her worn jeans. They wouldn't stop. They couldn't. And so she broke.

She screamed and screamed, hitting the dashboard, the wheel, slamming back against the seat, heels of her hands digging into her eyes in a furtive attempt to stop the tears. And then that solitary thought, the most breaking one, slipping in through the shouting and the cursing in her mind and whispered in her ear.

She'd never had anything to begin with.

It was a wonder she didn't break anything, with all the violence it brought out in her, a wonder no one in town hear her, even from this distance. And all of a sudden, she was just  _so_  tired. Her hands stayed loosely wrapped around the steering, her forehead pressing against them, eyes closed as more of her soul slipped away along her skin.

She would never forgive Neal. Not for this. He'd taken her only chance away from her, her  _child._  And Regina got it all. Her family, her happiness, her  _life_. And she couldn't even muster up the energy to hate her for it. Not anymore.

And suddenly there was a knocking on her windshield and she was shooting straight up, swiping at her eyes frantically and looking into the dark outside.

Hook.  _No, Killian._

She didn't want to be seen like this, weak and broken, especially not by him. He saw through her too much as it was, she couldn't afford to let him in. So she glared at him through the glass, the power behind it a fizzing pathetic thing.

And he just opened the door and pulled her out by her arm. She tripped, falling into him, his arms coming up around her. His good hand came up to pet her hair back, his cheek against her cheek, his body a warm barrier against the chill in the air.

"It's alright Swan," he murmured into her hair. "It's alright."

And she couldn't keep up the brave face anymore, grasping at him like a lifeline as she shuddered and sobbed into his shoulder, his leather jacket a cool contrast to his heat. He just pulled her closer and she tried to explain, tried to let him in because, at this moment, she couldn't do it alone. She needed him.

All that came out were broken sentences about family, about loneliness and he continued to pet her, to rub her back reassuringly, to whisper assurances in her ears.

They stayed like that for a long time. She didn't remember when they went back. She didn't even remember driving. He'd walked after her when she'd left. But somehow they ended up back on his ship; the  _Roger_ 's sway a coaxing lullaby as they lay down in his bed. He'd stripped himself of his boots and shirt, helped her with her shoes and jacket and simply held her through the night.

She wasn't even aware of what she was saying to him anymore, didn't recognize the sounds as words. And as she drifted off to sleep, she caught one thing, one quiet promise he spoke into her hair.

"I'll give it to you Emma, love. Anything you want. Forever."


	4. All My Life - The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People were asking for a continuation and all I could really think of was this little morning after scene from Emma's POV. It's super short.

She wakes up to his arms around her waist, his breath a soft caress on her skin. She shifts, mindful of his form, sitting up and staring down at him. His face is more relaxed than she's ever seen it, so smooth and young and carefree and she has the urge to kiss him awake but she doesn't. She can't.

He could break her apart, more than anyone else. He could leave her in a pile of cracked pieces, never able to fit together again, all scattered and misplaced and no longer whole. He frightens her. And it's not because of his darkness or his anger or any of that, but rather his hold over her, his power. She shivers at the thought and his arms tighten in his sleep, pull her closer against him, his head resting on her side as he breathes in her scent. The corners of his mouth tug up a bit and she can't help but smile.

He could break her. But he could also mend her.


	5. Untitled 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Emma and Henry use Killian like a human pillow.

Killian Jones had never been more nervous in his life as he walked up to Emma's apartment, old wooden stairs creaking with each step. She was his, finally, and he was hers. After all the pain and all the trials, he'd have thought that spending time with her boy would be easy, effortless.

He hadn't realized how utterly wrong he was until he looked up at the brick building.

And every second closer to reaching her door only spiked his anxiety, his hand kneading the dull hook he still wore, even with the modern clothes Emma had helped to pick out for him. It was simply really, a navy cotton shirt, black vest, dark wash jeans. The brace on his arm was visible to the world, the straps snaking up his lean muscles and he remembered when she'd kissed her way up it, reassured him it was fine, it was  _part_  of him.

She'd said she wanted it all.

The peeling white paint was mocking him, he was sure of it. Pushing down his nerves, he brought up his good hand to knock. Of course, before he got a chance to connect fist with wood it had already swung open, leaving him standing there with a raised arm staring at the boy in the threshold like an idiot.

"Hey, you're here! I was just gonna check and see. Cool!" Henry grinned up at him and Killian felt himself smile softly at the lad. He could see the excitement bubbling beneath the surface, the eagerness to get to know him.

"Hello there, lad. May I come in then?"

The kid stepped back, swinging the hinges back with him as Killian stepped through, eyes immediately searching for his Swan girl.

"Where's your mum?" he asked as Henry closed the door and skipped past him to the kitchen counter, a hot mug of cocoa sitting there in anticipation.

"Upstairs. She's almost ready I think." He shrugged, as though he were already used to this, even though he'd only known his mother for a year.

"Henry, did you get the movies out?"

Killian turned at the voice, heart skipping like a lovesick teenager at the sight of her. Her golden hair was pulled back into a loose bun, tendrils spilling out here and there like a halo. She smiled at him and gave him a quick kiss, fingers threading through his as she led him to the living room couch. Henry followed with his cocoa, settling between the two.

He wasn't honestly sure if he should move or not. The film they'd been watching was nearing it's end, but somewhere along the way Henry had fallen asleep in Killian's lap, snuggling closely into his leg, small hands curled next to his face as though he were about to start suckling his thumb. He'd felt his heart warm at the sight, looked at Emma with an expression of pure happiness. She'd smiled softly back at him, fingers brushing away the hair on her son's head affectionately. She had leaned in, pecked him on the lips lightly and settling into the crook of his arm, head resting at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

It appeared now that she'd fallen asleep along the way as well. He hadn't noticed, eyelids feeling heavy as their combined heat lulled him into relaxation. He decided to give into it in the end, as credit rolled up the screen. Tilting his head slightly, he rested his cheek in her perfumed hair, good hand in his lap near the boy, hooked arm around his love.

Killian Jones had never felt so content in his long, long, life.


	6. Unworthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Killian lets it slip that he thinks he doesn't deserve Emma and she is stunned and decides to give him a piece of her mind.

He'd been ignoring her for days, ever since they'd gotten back from Neverland, and Emma Swan was done with it. It'd been tense when they'd found Neal after that kiss, worse still after rescuing Henry. Her son had wanted them to be a family, wanted his parents together and Emma, in an attempt to do everything to make him happy, make everything right, had stayed with Neal, tried to work it out.

It was two weeks after their return, when things had calmed down considerably, that she'd realized how wrong that decision had been. They'd done nothing but argue over everything and she felt her heart aching with the knowledge that Henry was stuck in the middle. She could picture him in his room as they shot back jabs in the kitchen, curled under his blankets to keep the noise out. So last night, when he'd gotten home and Henry was at Regina's, she told him it wasn't working. He hadn't reacted how she'd thought, simply nodded quietly and packed his things. By the morning he was out and checked into Granny's until he found his own place.

The entire day she'd spent reevaluating her choices, trying to figure out what would make her happy, what  _could_  make her happy. Around every turn came his face, his smirk, eyes sparked with amusement and she felt herself burn. She hated it, hated the withdrawn look to him these days, knowing it was  _her_ fault. So with a huff of frustration, she'd gathered up her keys and coat and driven out to the mostly empty docks where his ship was anchored. Locking the doors to her bug, Emma zipped up her coat, furred hood coming up over her head, stuck her hands in her pockets and marched determinedly down the pier.

She had to talk to him, had to explain herself, but how? A sudden anxiety took over her, slithering up her spine to settle at the base of her skull. What if he didn't want her? What if she was too late? No. She couldn't let that thought get to her. She had to try, had to fight for him.

Her boots echoed painfully in the quiet twilight, snow falling softly around her. She'd reached the gangplank to his ship, hesitated. What if he kicked her out before she even had a chance to get a word in?

She stepped up, strolling across the deck straight to the captain's quarters. She didn't even bother to knock, just pushed open the door and closing it quickly behind her. He was leaning back in his chair, feet propped upon his desk with a flask in his hand. His heavy leather coat was hanging by his bed on the wall, the shirt he worse beneath it loosened to reveal the smattering of dark curls that Emma would bet trailed down beneath his trousers. Her breath caught.

Killian Jones simply raised one dark eyebrow at her, shifting to let his feet down and gracefully getting up to walk towards her. He held out his arms and gave a small mocking bow.

"To what do I owe the honor, my lady?"

She could still see the dark resolve in his eyes, could hear it in his voice. He was still hurt, still walled up. She took a measured step closer.

"I wanted to talk. About us."

"And what, pray tell, is there to say, Swan?"

"I made a mistake."

The cockiness in him immediately vanished at that and he stiffened. There was a careful mask set in place, one designed to keep her from reading him.

"Go back to your boy Emma."

"Killian…"

His electric blue eyes flashed and suddenly he was right in her face.

"You have nothing to say to me. You've made your choice. I fought for you and you chose him. Now leave, Swan. Go back to your  _happy_  family."

She wouldn't back down, not now. So she stood up a little taller and stared back at him, jaw set.

"I made the wrong choice. I wanted to do what was best for my  _son_ , and it turns out that wasn't it. So I want to do what's best for  _me._ And that's you, Killian." God that sounded stupid. She should have practiced before coming here.

Killian just looked at her, pain and regret flitting across his features so fast she might have missed it if she weren't so tuned into his every move. He turned away, heading back to his desk. He dropped the flask on the hard wood, fingers going to grip the back of the chair. His knuckles were turning white.

"No. I'm not. I'm a  _pirate_ , as has been made glaringly clear."

She froze.  _What?_  She felt the anger well up inside her at his words.

"Are you fucking  _kidding me?_  You're, what, not  _good enough?_ " She went straight to him, hand tugging on his shoulder sharply to make him face her again. His expression was pained and she wanted to slap it off, to make him understand. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to  _decide_. Don't you  _dare_  tell me that you think you're not good enough! You have been the only person there for me! You  _never_  left me behind, even when I pushed and pushed and pushed! You believed in me, listened to me,  _trusted me_ , and you're gonna stand there and tell me  _you're_  not good enough? Let me tell you something,  _Hook,_  I'm the one that's fucked up.  _I'm_  the one who's not worth it. I made the bad decision; I kept you out. I was scared of how  _real_ you were! So don't tell me you're just a  _pirate_. You've proven to  _me_ , more than anyone else, that you are so much more!"

He just stared at her as she caught her breath, cheeks enflamed from her speech. Slowly he brought his hand up to her face, thumb brushing over her skin. He didn't look closed off anymore.

If anything, he looked  _in awe._


	7. 3 Sentence Prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is just a bunch of 3 sentence drabbles from tumblr. Since they're so short, I'm just gonna post them all in one "chapter."

captain swan, stuck in emma's car because of heavy snowfall :)) x

from: shine-free

 

**Prompt #1**

Okay so a tiny bit more than three sentences. But that's okay. :)

She kept trying to drive through it, foot falling hard on the gas pedal in frustration because, damn it, she refused to get stuck out here with him, no matter  _how_ much snow was surrounding them!  
He groaned loudly next to her and Emma nearly jumped out of her skin, eyes flashing up to his as he have her an exasperated look, like even he was growing tired of her futile attempts to get them even  _marginally_  closer to town.  
"Swan," Killian sighed, leaning further back into his sea, "just calm down. We're not going anywhere until those infernal machines of yours come to clear the road, so you might as well settle in."  
She just glared at him.

 

cpatain swan painting thiers or the charmings home

from: youreapunk

 

**Prompt #2**

Killian Jones blinked in confusion a couple of times at a  _very_  happy Emma Swan, fingers slowly moving up to touch the side of his face and coming away with the sticky yellow paint she'd only moments ago cal my swiped at him with.

Her eyes were bright with barely restrained amusement and,  _oh that just would not do,_  he smirked, lunging at her with his brush as she squealed in surprise, turning to get away, but he was too fast.

His stumped arm caught her around her waist, his head ducking to trail hot open-mouthed kisses up her neck as he dragged his dripping brush up her side, infinitely pleased with the playful noise of disgust she let out as she wriggled in his embrace.

 

i found the ocean in your eyes- killian x emma

from: anonymous

 

**Prompt #3**

Again…. A sentence longer than promised but I couldn't help it heheh :)

She was breathtaking really; his own personal siren with long gold-spun hair and eyes like the sea, spirit fierce as Calypso herself.

Emma, elegant as a swan and stubborn as a mule, but he couldn't help himself, watched as she moved through the kitchen, his heart beating so loud he was amazed she couldn't hear it, couldn't sense his awe of her in every interaction.

She'd worried he'd have trouble assimilating to life on land, asked him if he was sure he wanted this but Killian had just kissed her quiet, resolute in the feeling that he didn't need the Joger anymore.

He'd found the ocean in her eyes.

 

emma tends to his wound/ shirtless killian x emma

from: anonymous

 

**Prompt #7**

She had to hold her breath for fear of what she might say as he carefully pulled off his shirt, muscles tensing and relaxing as he maneuvered himself so that she could see the long cut that stretched from his left shoulder nearly to his right nipple.

The blood had slowed considerably since he'd kept pressure on it and he'd asked her to sew him up; of course she didn't like the idea one bit since she was no nurse and that wound looked pretty serious but what else were they gonna do on such short notice?

Her gaze travelled up across his abs to his chest, suppressed the urge to run her fingers through the light dusting of dark curls there and focus instead on pushing needle through flesh, close him up so he could fight again, could help her save her son.


	8. When The Lights Go Out, Dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was something I had an idea for a few weeks ago and then someone on tumblr reminded me of it so here it is! Actually kind of happy with how it came out. :)

When the lights went out, Killian Jones was walking down Main Street from Granny's Diner. For a moment he just stood there in the darkness, eyes adjusting. It had been a few weeks since they'd all gotten back from Neverland and he'd grown accustomed to the constant illumination in town. Young Henry had explained how the lights worked once, but he'd forgotten already. Then again, he'd never understood in the first place. He contemplated walking back to his ship, but his mind wandered to Emma. Henry was with Regina this week and the Charmings had moved into their own abode, leaving their only daughter the apartment they'd previously occupied.

Killian smiled at the thought, happy for once in his life because he belonged somewhere. He'd grown rather close to David and Henry after their return, spent evenings teaching the lad the pirate's way of sword fighting as the Prince argued which was better. They avoided the topic of Emma, of course. Her father was far too protective of her to even entertain the thought of a romantic life. Killian still believed the man convinced himself on a daily basis that his girl was focused solely on her own child, that  _that_  was enough.

Regardless, Killian had no intention of giving up on the town's sheriff, even if she  _had_  been avoiding him. And the thought of her alone in that apartment right now, surrounded by the dark, it made him want to be there. She was a tough lass, but his Swan girl had demons which he was sure acted up in her solitude and he'd be damned before he let them torment her. His mind made up, he turned down an alley off Main Street towards her apartment building.

The lights had flickered off and Emma Swan was left sitting on the couch with her popcorn going cold, sighing in frustration. Setting the bowl aside, she heaved herself up and felt her way through to the kitchen, finding a lighter and using it to locate some candles. If she couldn't have her movie night, then she might as well read.

Going through the living room, Emma lit the tall pillar candles Mary Margaret had insisted she keep in case of a power outage, arranging them on the coffee table in front of the couch. It was nice, cozy. It reminded her of when she'd first gotten to Storybrooke, when David had just split up with Kathryn and the town was shunning her mother. Leroy had used a pickaxe to take out the transformer so they could sell all the candles for the nuns. It had worked, of course. No one liked being stuck in the dark. Emma would never admit it, but she'd been relieved. She'd hated the dark for as long as she could remember, as far back as her days in the foster system.

The thought alone made her cringe and she hurriedly plopped down on the cushions, wrapping the felt blanket that hung over the back around her and grabbing the first book she could reach under the table.

_The Vagina Monologues_

"Seriously?"

She was about to go fishing for another when she heard a knock at the front door. Letting out a breath of relief, Emma got up, eager for the distraction. What she found on the other side of the door didn't entirely make her feel better, though.

There stood Hook-no Killian, smiling softly at her in the lighter's feeble glow and she could feel the anxiety crawling up her spine at the sight of him. Those eyes, those electric eyes that saw right through her. She'd been trying to avoid his knowing gaze since they'd gotten back, couldn't entirely get herself to face the feelings she harbored for the pirate. She'd kept telling herself that her main focus should be on Henry, that he needed her right now in the aftermath of his kidnapping, but the truth was it was becoming an excuse. Henry didn't need her that much. He had his grandparents, Regina, Neal, the  _entire town of Storybrooke_. She was just one of many people he could lean on, could count on and, honestly, he didn't seem the least bit affected by the incident anyways. He was still so bright, so happy and outgoing and curious. Regina, Neal and she had their hands full keeping him out of mischief now more than ever before.

"Lass, might you invite me in? A bit cold out here."

She blinked up at him and stepped to the side. Now was as good a time as any to begin dealing with  _this_  particular complication in her life. Killian nodded at her, walking swiftly into the apartment, the salty scent of the ocean and the deep umbered essence of wood following.

Emma closed the door.

Turning quickly, she half jogged to the couch and sat back down, knees coming up to her chest and blanket curled around her shoulders like armor as she looked up at him, eyes wide. She could hardly believe he was here, was seeking her out after weeks of her ignoring him. Killian just stood in the middle of the room, the smile gone as he studied her. She raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's simply been a while, Swan."

He walked over and took a seat next to her in the near dark, the cushions dipping with his weight causing her to lean closer to him.

"Emma-"

"Stop. I'm sorry. I know you said that when things calmed down I'd have to choose, but I've been busy taking care of Henry and getting back into my job and that whole 'new curse' shit was a whole thing, but I haven't forgotten what you said, what you  _did_  for my family. So I'm sorry for not talking to you since we got back."

The words had come out on a single breath and she was left feeling lighter, even if it  _was_  only a half-truth. She jumped a bit when his hand touched her knee and he shifted a bit closer, his heat permeating the leather of his coat and soaking in through her blanket and sweater right to her bones.

"Emma, look at me."

And at his soft command she did, leaning in to his touch without even realizing it.

"You've nothing to apologize for lass. But be honest, you've been avoiding me," he grinned at her and winked and she just rolled her eyes, snuggling further into her blanket.

"Please."

"I seem to remember the last time you said that to me."

She tried to hit him with her shoulder, but only succeeded in getting stuck, her knees still pressed to her chest.

"Eager for a repeat?"

"You couldn't handle it."

"I believe  _you're_ the one who couldn't handle it."

She straightened and turned her body to him, blanket falling from her shoulders as she was about to give him a sarcastic retort when suddenly his fingers were threading to her hair, thumb brushing her cheekbone as his lips claimed hers. Emma let out a surprised little yelp and she could  _feel_  him grin into the kiss as she began to respond, pushing back at him with all she had.

It would always be like this between them, all fire and challenge, each giving as good as they got. Which is why she pressed herself bodily into him, nearly in his lap with her fingers tangled in his hair and a breathy moan escaping her lips.


	9. Drabble Prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially these things meet the requirement for a drabble. Exactly 100 words each! I'm kinda happy with them. They're cute.

**Drabble Prompt #1: "Why are you REALLY here?"**

"Why are you  _really_  here, Hook?"

He froze, staring at her across the low embers of the campfire. She wasn't even looking at him, her eyes downcast as she whittled away at a small stick with her knife, hair tumbling past her ears to hide her face.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

At that, Emma looked up, eyes piercing his, pleading. "Yes you do. What are you doing here? In  _Neverland_ , of all places? You hate this place, I can tell."

Killian was silent for a moment, gaze flitting over the sleeping forms of their companions.

"It's for you."

**Drabble Prompt #2: It's Thanksgiving dinner in the Charming family house.**

"David, just put the knife down please," Snow breathed out as calmly as she could, hands fluttering towards her husband as he directed the pointed end of the weapon at Killian.

"I will when  _they_  do," he grit out, eyes moving back and forth between Killian and Neal. The two men were still staring each other down like huge toddlers and Emma couldn't bring herself to be worried about the situation. She just rolled her eyes and continued eating her turkey and potatoes, motioning for Henry to do the same. On his other side sat Regina, completely unfazed and calm.

**Drabble Prompt #3: Killian asks Emma out on their first official date after she picks him.**

"Emma."

She turns to him, still slightly uncomfortable around him. They'd just decided on being officially together a few days ago, the talk ending in one hell of a night, but still she shivered a bit in his presence. So looking at him now, eyes so impossibly blue and expression so earnest, she found her heart skipping in her chest, waiting for him to continue. Killian took a slow step closer, their bodies nearly brushing against each other with every breath.

"I'm not sure what this entails, but I've been speaking with the wolf-girl. Would you like to go out?"

 


	10. Winter Fluff 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CS fluff prompt. Emma, Henry and Killian make a snowman.
> 
> I like this one. Kinda let me be a bit abstract at the end.

"Come on Killian!" Henry shouts as he bounds out the door and down the stairs. Emma smiles after her son, pulling her coat around her as she zips it up, beanie already in place over her wavy hair. She looks back at Killian, watches the way he maneuvers in the unfamiliar clothes one handed. He'd stopped wearing the hook a while ago, replaced it with a prosthetic hand concealed by a leather glove, although today he has a matching pair on his right to fend off the cold. He looks up at her and grins, eyes dancing with amusement.

"I believe we ought to catch up with your boy, lass. He'll start the fun without us."

She turns and walks over the threshold, waiting for him to join her in the hallway before she locks the door. They make their way out of the building in companionable silence and suddenly the temperature is dropping and there's white everywhere and she can hear her son shouting in delight as a snowball lands on the side of Killian's head. She can't help the laugh that bubbles out of her, jogs over to join her son on their assault of the clueless pirate. He's ducking and dodging, grumbling as he tries to compress the snow into his own ammo with the prosthetic.

She doesn't expect the rush of cold as he nails her right in the face, eyes squinted shut and mouth full of now melting ice flakes.

"You are  _done_  pirate!"

They play like that for what feels like forever, a perfect moment suspended in time and she wants to hold onto it for the rest of her life. Soon enough, though, Henry is trying to explain to Killian just what a snowman actually  _is_  and the pirate is getting more and more confused by the second, brow furrowing in concentration as he tries to follow the young boys hurried and excited words.

"It's like a man you make out of snow! You just get three big balls of the stuff, different sizes, pile them on top of each other and get branches for the arms and buttons for the eyes and mouth and the shirt and you put a scarf around where his neck should be and stick a carrot in for his nose and then he's there to watch over you as you play!" Henry says again, very nearly annoyed that his new friend isn't getting it. "Never mind, I'll just show you instead. That's easier anyways."

And so the two get to work rolling up large balls of snow in the yard, exposing little crops of yellowed grass in their wake. Emma just sits down on a bench and watches them, a warmth filling her at the sight. She's never had this, this lightness, and she doesn't ever want to lose it again. She drinks them in, their expressions and their motions, the interactions. It's amazing how well her son and her pirate get along, really. She'd never have expected it before.

"Emma, love, why are we putting a  _carrot_  of all things in place of this man's nose?"

"Because that's what  _everyone_  does, Killian!" Henry answers him, grinning. There're snowflakes in his hair and his clothes are almost completely soaked through but he doesn't seem to mind it, too caught up in his fun to worry about catching a cold. Emma thinks that maybe they should go inside and dry off now, doesn't want him to get sick after this, but relents to finishing the snowman first.

The next day he's still there, a little lopsided but standing; his carrot-nose has shifted askew and one eyes is now lower than the other, smile a bit wobbly, but he watches them as they walk to the school bus, as they go about their day. He's a reminder of their fun, a watchman to keep her son safe. And it's thanks to her pirate.

 


	11. Jealousy and Second Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a post from tumblr that basically said, when Emma saw Hook and Tink she wasn't only jealous, she looked like she was preparing herself to get hurt.

She should have known it would happen, should have realized the moment they got  _back_. After all, nobody ever really picked her. She was a second choice, an after thought, a means to an end. She was the last resort when all else fell through.

So why should  _he_  have been any different?

Emma watched as Hook spoke to Tink, agitation showing in the tensing of his shoulders, the sharp gestures of his hand. Of course he was upset. Pan had essentially hijacked Henry's body and stolen a curse powerful enough to rip them all from Storybrooke, memories erased and trapped under his rule. But right now, at this moment, all she could think about was  _him_.

_"When I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it, it won't be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me."_

He hadn't meant it.

_"I've yet to see you fail."_

Any of it.

_"Until I met you."_

Emma blinked away the thought, refused to deal with the simmering  _hurt_  that was trying to crawl its way into her. Why was she so upset anyway? It's not like she  _loved_  him. He was just there. He was useful and supportive and he made her feel good even in the midst of all the pain that was Neverland, but it wasn't like they were a  _thing._

So why did she feel like ripping the fairy a new one?

She started a bit when he looked her way, eyes finding hers without so much as a waver, but Emma looked down at her shoes instead. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want him to read her now as he'd done so many times before. He was a villain, a pirate, Captain  _freaking_  Hook! She shouldn't feel  _anything_  for him.

And yet she couldn't shake the disappointment, the hurt, that came with knowing she was stuck in second place again the moment there were other choices.

 


	12. New Years Prompts

**Prompt: Killian ends up liking a TV show Emma can't stand and makes her watch it with him every week.**

"Please,  _please,_  don't make me sit through this, Killian. Just once let me skip, please?" It was so unlike Emma to whine at him, but he'd brought it out as he dragged her to the couch by the hand. She wasn't sure why, but he made the child in her flare to life at home. He was like the helium and she was the balloon, softly floating higher and higher. He looked at her and grinned wide, turning to face her as they entered the living room.

"Sorry lass, but you promised. Remember? It was to be a weekly tradition between the two of us.  _Just_  us." His thumb was rubbing warm circles into the back of her hand as he slowly walked them backwards. She tried in vain to fight the smile that was coaxing its way onto her lips, ultimately failing miserably.

She yelped when he suddenly pulled her onto his lap on the couch, cushions falling to the floor with the movement as he quickly grabbed the remote from behind her and flicked on the television. Part of her wanted to push at him out of spite, but his warmth, the familiar presence of his arms around her had her snuggling closer into his embrace. He made a satisfied sort of humming sound in the back of his throat, reverberating through his chest against her cheek.

Emma felt safe, free, loved.

She supposed she could sacrifice an hour a week to watch Downton Abbey with him if he  _insisted._

**Prompt: Emma and Killian have a teenage daughter.**

"Mom, can you  _puh-lease_ make him understand? It's just a dance!" Eta was nearly shouting now, arms flung up in exasperation as she paced the living room floor.

"I will not have my daughter be accompanied by some  _boy_  we know nothing about." Killian stated firmly, arms crossed in defiance. He was too protective of her, but Emma understood why. She knew Eta was the world to him, his chance at righting the wrongs his father committed whilst raising him and Liam, but she also knew Eta was their daughter, and she certainly wasn't going to back down without raising hell herself.

She sighed, rubbing her temples in an effort to relieve the building pressure there. The shouting match wasn't helping matters, stringing her tighter and tighter until she thought she might snap.

_No. I have to be the rational one here. Deep breaths, Emma. Just breathe._

Her hand reached out to land on her husband's shoulder, making him stop mid sentence and give her an incredulous look. Of course he already knew what she was going to say.

"Look Killian, Eta is a teenager. She needs to know that we trust her enough to let her go on this date. It's not the end of the world, okay?"

Killian merely huffed in response, a deep scowl fixing itself like a landmark on his face.

"But she's just a girl!"

"Killian she is 17 years old. Calm down."

Emma didn't dare ook at their daughter, she could  _feel_  the smugness seeping out of her. She thought she'd won the argument. Well, two could play at that game.

"And Eta, your dad's right. We can't let you go with some boy we don't know. I know Prom is important, but we need to know you're going to be safe, okay? So, for your father's sake, just invite him to dinner this week so we can at least talk to him, alright?"

Eta looked like she was about to stomp her foot, something she'd often done at a child when she was frustrated. " _Fine._ " She hissed and turned to storm up the stairs to the loft.


	13. Hitting Cock Bottom 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Tumblr enables me and makes me think smutty smutty thoughts okay? (Part of a Blow Job series which will now be called "Hitting Cock Bottom" though the stories themselves are unlinked...)

Killian Jones leaned back heavily at his desk, legs spread wide. His hand gripped the armrest, knuckles going white with the strain as the sharp tip of his hook gouged into the wooded chair.  _Gods_  this felt good.

Emma's long soft curls slipped along his abdomen, over the tight leather of his trousers and the hot pulse of his cock. She'd undone the laces enough to free him of its confinement, delicate fingers drawing him out. He was only half hard, a fact which made her arch a brow at him as he grinned back at her.

She stroked him slowly, soft flesh and faint whispers of lips on skin. A low grown escaped him at the first flick of her tongue, a searing heat shooting through him at the contact. They'd never done this before, not truly. She'd pumped him to readiness a few times, sucked him dry after he'd cum, but never had it been solely for this purpose, solely to pleasure him.

She licked a long stripe up his shaft and his muscles tensed further, hips bucking lightly in her grip. He  _felt_  the vibration of her chuckle, an exquisite action that had his toes curling in his boots. Looking down at her, his breath caught. She was staring at him, large jade eyes sharp and aware, the corners of her mouth curving slightly before she took him in, lips wrapping tight and smooth.

His hand shot to her hair, silk against his fingers. He was bucking again, but he could feel her forearms pressing down on his thighs, keeping him as still as she could. She sucked gently on his head, tongue laving against the tip and teasing the pin-sized hole there. His head fell back, neck straining. He wanted to shove her off and take her against the desk, make her scream his name until her throat went sore, but he'd promised, just this once, to allow her to finish him this way. His grip tightened against her scalp but did not otherwise move.

Emma hummed low, sliding further down his cock until he was hitting the back of her throat. She tried to go deeper, to swallow him whole, but the gagging that started forced her back. She was off him in a moment, gasping in air. Concern took over and he leaned forward, palm slipped away from her head to cup her cheek tenderly.

"Are you alright, love?" His voice sounded strained even to him.

She nodded, breathing deep as she steadied herself. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"You don't have to, darling. You know that. I'd be more than satisfied to simply take you." His smile was wicked and he saw the flush of her skin.

"N-no. I want to do this." She grinned at him, sultry and mischievous and  _gods she was a right minx_.

Emma pumped his shaft again, lips descending around the head of his cock as she sucked in earnest. His breathing became erratic, chest heaving as he bucked up into her mouth. She went deeper, took him further, head bobbing obscenely between his legs as she took him. She had the power now, held it over him like an avenging angel when she stopped to kiss and lick. His groans grew louder, more desperate as he forced himself not to push her down, to properly fuck her throat, her teasing be damned. He didn't get the chance.

She swallowed and squeezed, free hand massaging his balls through his trousers as he bucked up, hips stuttering as his release washed over him. And damn that woman  _but she was drinking him in_ , careful not to spill a drop. His body slowly relaxed feeling completely and utterly sated. His eyes drifted to her as she licked away the remnants of his seed, cheeks rosy and sweet. She looked back at him as she finished, a smile gracing her pretty features and he had the urge to embrace her and never let go. His Swan girl, his Emma, how blessed he felt to have her.

She crawled up his body, nestling herself into his lap comfortably as his arms came around her. Her head rested on his shoulder, tucked just under his chin. Her breath fanned over his skin, warm and welcoming and so familiar now that it took him slightly by surprise. Nosing her hair, her scent filling him, surrounding him, he murmured, "I love you, Emma."

He felt her returning smile against his skin, a soft kiss at his throat sealing the moment.

"I love you too."


	14. Never Again

Sometimes when she looked at the scar she could still feel the burn, the tight grip on her wrist as he'd held her hand down on the table and smothered his light out just beneath the juncture of her thumb and forefinger. She could still hear her own screaming, so small and terrified and confused, and his laughter, so harsh and malicious.

That entire portion of her life was a bit of a blur, almost dream like in its obscurity, but that one moment stood out clear as day. She suspected it always would.

Killian was watching her carefully, flask lifted halfway up to his lips. He'd asked her about it, noticed it, and she didn't have the words to answer him. What was she supposed to say?  _One of my foster fathers got mad when he was drunk and decided to smother his cigarette out on me?_  Knowing him he'd probably hunt the guy down and gut him.

So Emma just stayed quiet, fingers wrapped around the cool glass of amber liquid resting on the desk in front of her. She could  _feel_  his eyes, sense the agitation at her continued silence. She heard him let out a heavy sigh, chair squeaking a bit as he shifted and took a swig of his rum. Her eyes darted up to him and locked with his bright,  _electric_ , gaze and she felt it down to her toes. He'd branded her long ago with that look, scorched her to the bone and marked her as his, though he didn't know it yet. Distantly she recognized she should probably say something, at least change the topic. Eyes sweeping the room she settled on a golden object on one of his shelves. It looked like some kind of compass.

"So what is that thing?" She nodded in the direction of it, gesturing slightly with her glass.

When he looked at it there was a longing in his expression, a pain that tensed his forehead and tipped down the edges of his mouth. "It was a gift from my brother. A sextant. We used it to navigate with the stars."

"How old were you?"

"Hardly even 19." It was a sad smile that lifted his lips then, lashes a dark smudge against his cheeks as he looked down at his hand on the desk. She felt it sting at her and there was an urge to reach out to him, to comfort him in the face of the memories. But just as she was lifting her left hand his quiet voice made her freeze. "So Swan, will you tell me now how you came to have that mark on your hand?" He was looking at her again and she was caught like a deer.

"I-well it... It was from when I was a kid." She shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal but she knew from the way his shoulders tensed that he saw through it. He always managed to do that. Sometimes it felt like her walls were nothing more than glass to him, clean and clear-cut and barring every ugly scar for him to see. "It was an accident."

"Your tone seems to suggest otherwise, love."

She grit her teeth then relaxed, the fight leaving her so fast it nearly made her dizzy. "Fine." A sigh, long and drawn out as she gathered her thoughts. How was she supposed to say this? "I uh, I was burned. Literally. There was this home I was sent to and my foster dad was, well, he liked his vodka, okay? And one night he got mad at me. So that was that. Whatever. It was a long time ago."

She didn't realize she'd stopped looking at him until she heard the sudden violent scrape of his chair against the hard floor. He was in front of her in an instant, kneeling at her side and taking her left hand in his right to examine the scar. Slowly, as though she might run at any minute, he lifted it to his lips and left a single soft kiss right over the damaged skin. It was almost reverent in it's intensity and Emma could feel the hot blush creeping up the skin of her neck and over her cheeks, even while the pain of the memory felt like it was trying to tear at her flesh again.

And she mostly  _felt_  rather than heard him whisper against her hand, "Never again."


	15. 9 Sentence Prompts

**1**

**The Man in the Tree**

**naiariddle said:** _Neverland: While here the group find someone Killian though was dead (Liam, his father)_

It was the groan that had drawn him to the cropping of trees, low and desperate and  _so familiar_  that it awakened a hollowing fear in the pit of his stomach. He'd thought he was gone, thought he'd been rid of him a long time ago before ever coming to this place. But the sound continued and he stopped short when he reached the source, hand moving forward as if to grab it.

It was a man; a man that had gone so long ago that Killian hardly recognized his face. Weathered skin, beard long and tangled like his hair, sharp blue eyes still fierce, still strong beneath thick brows as he stared at his son, body a knarled mess fused with the tree trunk behind him.

"Hook?" Killian turned quickly, finding Emma a few feet behind him, a confused expression on her face. "What are you doing? We're setting up camp."

He didn't answer her – couldn't – because all he could see was the vision of his father. He turned again to check it was still there, though when he thought back later in the night he figured he must have known it was a trick, that he wasn't really still alive, still there to haunt him, to make the lost boy in him cry out, so when he was met with just vines and trees the tension in his body left.

"Nothing, love. I'm not doing anything."

**2**

**Did He Stay the Night?**

**Anonymous:**   _Did he stay the night?_

Emma smiles into her cup of coffee, big flannel shirtsleeves folded up to her elbows, leggings tucked under the heels of her feet as she stands on the cold kitchen tiles.

She's watching Killian through the open door to her room, admiring the way his muscles twist as he dresses in a pair of simple black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, the cotton stretching nicely over his chest and shoulders. He's grinning at her, so ridiculously happy at the simplicity of the situation, the calmness that has finally,  _finally,_  settled in on them after what seems like forever.

It might also have something to do with the fact that this is the first time she's let him stay the night, curled into him in her sleep, kissed him sweetly as the morning light filtered in through the curtains. And she can't help it, the feeling of _contentment_  that warms her to her toes, pulls her smile just a little bit wider.

The knock on the door startles her and she sets down her cup, moving around the kitchen island to answer. Her mother stands there, bear claws in hand and she walks right into the apartment, a beeline to the counter.

There's a moment of panic in Emma, a single second in which she's  _scared_  that Snow will find him, will frown at her and show disapproval, but it's gone as suddenly as it came, and she's turning around to see Killian sauntering to a stool and grabbing her mug. She comes to stand next to her mother, laughing at him as he sputters into the cup, apparently not expecting the bitter taste.

Snow leans closer, a soft expression on her face as she watches the pirate grab a fruit.

"Did he stay the night?"

**3**

**Small As A Loaf Of Bread**

**Anonymous:**   _Killian reminiscing about never thinking he'd find love, and that his love for Emma blows him away, but that is nothing compared to the first time he sees his daughter._

He never thought anything would amaze him as much as Emma Swan, his brilliant, beautiful, perfect lass.

He never knew that he could hold so much love for something so small, so new, long before ever knowing it.

But the moment he sees her, small as a loaf of bread and crying out in distress, his heart swells.

She's wrapped in a blanket in her mother's arms, wet and bloody but so irrevocably  _alive_  and he can hardly believe his eyes.

Emma looks up at him, tired and worn from the long night, but happy, so very happy, and she nods towards their little girl,  _their daughter_  – a silent question.

He reaches out for her, so slowly so carefully, and he's afraid he won't be able to hold her with the fake hand, afraid he'll hurt her, so he stops to take it off.

His fingers make quick work of the latch, reaches beneath his shirt to undo the buckles and remove the entire device.

He wants to feel her new skin against his, feel her chest as it expands with breath and huffs out in angelic little whisps.

So he reaches out, tucks his daughter into the folds of his arms and smiles at her, at the scrunched up face and the tiny fists raised to block the light, at the bright green eyes that blink open slightly, squint at him as though she's trying to examine him, and suddenly he's laughing because  _he's never known he could be this happy._


	16. 9 Sentence Prompts Pt. 2

**Anonymous:**   _Christopher Gorham's character in Storybrooke and jealous!Hook. (Fluffy)_

He knows there's no reason for it, knows it's bloody  _nonsensical_  to feel jealous of the man.

_For god's sake he's like a brother to her!_

But as he watches him cup the back of her head, lean forward to place a soft, affectionate, kiss on her forehead, his fist tightens almost painfully, the knuckles going white.

The git is  _touching his Swan_  and he so desperately wishes it were him, arms wrapped around her, lips on her skin,  _him_  drawing out that brilliant smile so bright he often wonders how it hasn't blinded him yet.

 _It's never directed at you, that's why,_  whispers a dark voice in his mind, the one that often brings about the bouts of binge drinking, locked in his cabin for days and destroying most of the meager furniture.

She's smiling at him again, waving happily as he walks off towards the bed and breakfast. It's only when she turns around, notices Hook sitting on the bench watching her that her lips tilt downwards into a frown, eyes saddening.

They keep the contact for a beat, then two, then three, and it feels like he's finally there with her, feels as though she misses him with the somewhat forlorn edge to her posture. But then she's walking away, back to her metal carriage and driving off in the direction of her home, and he knows it must have been his imagination, a projection of what he's hoping for reflecting back at him.


	17. Care to Cash In?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk, rough, possessive smut with absolutely no shame on my part… Yeah.

She gasps as her back hits the firm wooded door of his cabin, hands running down her sides as she tries to push back.

She'd seen him in the Rabbit Hole earlier that night, drinking with the dwarves. She'd slunk into a bar through the back door, into a stool in the far corner and away from prying eyes as she attempted to unwind from her tense day. Regina had come to take Henry for the weekend, right before Neal barged in demanding for time with his son. It was the perfect recipe for a splitting headache, one she was keenly feeling as she ordered a drink. It was then that she heard his laugh, loud and uninhibited and  _so incredibly amused_. She'd never heard him laugh like that before. Cradling her glass of whiskey she'd continued to watch him, hidden mostly behind a large man sitting at a high top table a few feet from her. He was smiling, the corners of his mouth turned up charmingly as he conversed with Leroy and Tom, large pint held up by the curve of his silver hook. She watched as he took a swig, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed and she felt the heat climbing up her neck, the memory of his kiss setting her on edge.

And just like that, as though he'd sensed her gaze, electric blue locked onto her, a mischievous glint sparking in the depths even through the distance. She knew he could probably see her blush, hell she could  _feel it_  burning her cheeks and lighting the tips of her ears. But he just smirked, a self confident expression that spoke volumes of what he saw in her, winked and turned back to his new friends.

Emma downed the rest of her drink, relishing the hissing burn of it sliding down her throat. She ordered another.

It was later, around the time she felt the liquor hazing her vision and loosening her limbs, that she noticed him walking up to her. The dwarves were gone, their booth empty, and the table strewn with dirty shot glasses. Emma swayed a bit on her seat, the world tilting appealingly around her as she turned to face him. He leaned on the bar, just inside her personal space, a wicked smile lighting his features as he appraised her.

"Hey beautiful."

She simply raised a brow in response, smile playing on the edges of her lips. He leaned closer, scruff rubbing lightly against her cheek, breath fanning back strands of her hair.

"I believe I promised you something in Neverland, lass. Care to cash in?"

And now she finds herself up against his cabin door, heart racing in her chest as heat pools between her legs. He's demanding, rough; hook dragging the top of her tank down, letting it rest under the curve of her breasts. His scruff leaves a burning trail down the column of her throat, teeth nipping and sucking and  _licking_  in a way that makes her head spin, and her fingers pull at his hair. He groans as he leans back, eyes burning into hers as his good hand smooths up against the flesh of her side, over her ribs and down to dip into the small of her back, pulling her impossibly closer, the line of her body conforming to his.

She can feel it in her throat, the suffocating need to just push him back and ride him on the floor, so – perhaps because of the wait or maybe it's the alcohol buzzing through her system – she brings her hands flat against his chest, fingertips brushing the hair exposed there as she makes to shove him back, to take control. But he has other things in mind, it seems, and before she can get any leverage, Emma finds herself spinning, stomach hitting the edge of the desk that, a moment ago, she could have sworn was behind him. His hand is putting pressure down between her shoulder blades and she's soon lying across the tabletop, ass pressed firmly against his groin.

He leans down over her, cool metal brushing her hair away from her face. She can feel him through the leather, notices with some small amount of satisfaction the light rutting of his hips. Emma grins, quick and wicked and pushes her ass back as much as she can, wiggling a little for emphasis. Killian hisses behind her and thrusts forcefully once, twice, and he's gathering her hands and pulling them back. She feels him shifting, then the warm cloth of what she thinks is his scarf wrapping around her wrists, securing them together. A long sigh escapes her and he's lifting her back again, tearing her tank in two, tugging her bra down around her waist and pushing her forward again. She feels his hand come around her waist, fingers playing with the button of her jeans and pulling it down, panties catching on his hook and trapped around her ankles.

It's overwhelming. It's too much.

It's not enough.

Emma squirms on the desk, tries to entice him into moving faster, to just shove into her and  _take_ her already! His palm slides along the curve of her ass, long calloused fingers dipping in between her folds and she hears him chuckle.

"Emma, Emma. You're  _dripping_ , sweetheart. You like this, don't you?" His lips trail up the back of her neck and she tries not to shiver. "So helpless, so at my mercy."

Her vision is swimming, her mind a jumbled mess as he slowly slips into her, fucking into her with his fingers. She groans and tries to shift, but there's really nowhere to go and all of a sudden he's gone and she feels cold and empty and  _aching_   _for more_.

And suddenly she's being moved again, turned around to sit on the wood of the desk as he slips off her boots and frees her legs of her jeans completely. She looks down at him, the ruffled hair the flushed cheeks. Her eyes catch his and her heart skips a beat, then two, a jolt rushing through her as he shoves her legs aside and nips up her thigh. Her head falls back and she has to fight to stay upright, her bound wrists putting her off balance as his lips brush against her folds. He grins up at her, wolfish and wicked, then he has her nub between his teeth and he's  _sucking_.

Her feet scramble at his back, searching for purchase, but there's nothing to hold onto, the leather of his jacket allowing no footholds. Emma's back hits the desk, her wrists burn, and she's bucking up into him, moaning under his expert tongue. He brings up his hand, the cool metal of his rings leaving a trail of gooseflesh up to her core. He slips in, all the way up to the gaudy jewelry and then further, the rough texture scraping against her walls deliciously.

" _Oh-oh god Hook!"_  Back arching up, she can't help the desperate tone to her voice and she curses internally. She can  _feel_  the smug twist of his lips, his fingers pumping harder and that coil of pleasure in the pit of her stomach is growing tighter, stretching further until she feels like she'll split in two if she doesn't come.

Of course  _that's_  when he decides to stop. She growls at him as he pulls away and he grins down at her, his chin slick with her juices, pupils dilated so wide she can't even make out the blue. Then again, that might be from the world spinning around her.

He watches her as he shrugs off his jacket and pulls off the undershirt, muscles lean and taught from years on a ship, scars slipping through the dark hair on his chest. She wants to lick over each and every one, tongue soft on the rough white lines, but her thoughts are interrupted as he starts unlacing his trousers, smirking at her all the while as he watches. Her attention is fixed on the mesmerizing motion of his fingers, hook tugging at loose rope and he's pushing it down, enough for his cock to bob up against his stomach.

He's bigger than she thought and she licks her lips, smiles up at him. He moves over her, tip brushing against her as he supports himself on his left forearm, free hand trailing over her exposed breasts and tweaking the nipples. She shuffles again, eager to just  _get to it_ , a long sigh falling from her lips as her eyes flutter closed.

"Such a pretty thing you are, darling. Like an offering to the gods." He thrusts into her with one harsh rut of his hips and Emma keens at the sudden fullness of him. "I suppose you're my offering now, aren't you?"

Her wrists are burning but she's tugging at them anyway, desperate to touch him, to claw against his back and leave her mark. Her legs are wrapped around his hips, ankles locked together to pull him close, like he had any intention of leaving in the first place. He sets a fast pace, the desk shaking with each pump of his cock, her breasts bobbing back and forth. He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, a warm wetness that alleviates the coolness of the cabin.

"God!  _Hook_."

His fingers dig painfully into her hips, sure to leave a bruise, and he groans, forehead resting on her chest as he slows his movements.

"That's not my name, Emma." One punishing thrust, two. "Say my name."

She shakes her head from side to side, the pressure building in her core as she tries to jut her hips against his. She's not drunk enough for this. Not this.

" _Emma_ ," he hisses, teeth biting down against her neck, the pain spiking down her body as she cries out.

"Please.  _Please._   _Killian._ "

"That's a good girl."

He leans back, hook embedded into the wood of the desk, hand still holding her hip steady as he pound into her and she's writhing, sobbing with the overwhelming feeling of him.

_"Oh god oh god oh god!"_

His grunts are mixing with her moans, filling the small space around them and she feels it coming, almost  _tastes_ it on her tongue as sparks shoot behind her eyelids.

" _Come on Emma._ "

She's spinning, weightless, soaring as she goes over the edge and into oblivion, thrashing against him. Vaguely she feels his weight on her, his voice rough against her ear as he seizes up after a few more hard pumps, warmth filling her to the brim and breath leaving her lungs.

" _Mine._ "


	18. Bones AU (ish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by and Anonymous blogger on Tumblr.

He starts dropping hints while they're tangled together, skin against skin as he lays soft kisses along the column of her throat.

"Gods, I could spend eternity like this."

She just snuggles closer into his arms. The steady beat of his heart lulls her to sleep.

-/-

He comments on couples that walk by them, talks about old husbands and wives and the lives they've shared. She still doesn't understand it, why he wants this so much. So she just pretends not to understand and continues on with work while he struts beside her, fingers grazing hers.

-/-

It's the most inconvenient of times really. Her arms are elbow deep in some poor sod's chest, a HAZMAT suit covering her from head to toe and he's on the other side of the table. He brings the man's hand up and looks pointedly at her. A wedding ring is still clinging to his decomposing corpse.

-/-

He's asked her already and she's turned him down. She won't tell him why, but he takes the hint and leaves her be. They continue on with their relationship as though nothing has changed.

-/-

"Love, you do realize one day you're going to ask me, don't you?"

She looks up from her plate of pasta. One neat brow rises at him, "What makes you so sure of that?"

He chuckles, eyes sparking with mischief. "Because, Swan. You're as desperate for me as I am for you." She rolls her eyes and continues eating.

-/-

She's given in. It's the fear that really gets to her, the insistent image of him leaving her, abandoning her like everyone else. She curls up in his arms as he rocks her back and forth, whispering soothing words into her hair as she sobs into his shoulder.

She really hates crying.

-/-

He smiles at her, a knowing look on his face as she opens the small velvet box. A simple white gold band sits cushioned inside, winking at him in the light. She tries not to smile too much.

"Will you marry me?"

"Of course, darling. I thought you'd never ask."


	19. A Touch of Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CS + Kisses

The first one had been electric, adrenaline rushing through her veins as she gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer. He'd chase after her lips when she pulled back, tug at her head, fingers tangled in her hair. Foreheads pressed together, breathing in the same air, she felt wrecked, she felt tipsy.

It was like he was a drug.

So she stepped away.

-/-

The second felt like part of a dream, his good hand coming up to cup her face as he breathed something about making her remember. It was quick, it took her by surprise, and she'd kneed him in the groin and pushed him out of her apartment, shut the door in his face.

She hadn't even known who he was at the time.

-/-

The third was in Storybrooke. It was quiet, a still night with a chill in the air. She'd put Henry to bed, a soft loving peck on his forehead as she left his room. He insisted he was too old to be tucked in by his mother, but she'd just smiled, sad and forlorn, and asked if he'd make an exception this one time. Of course he'd let her, a muttered 'I love you' and off to sleep.

She'd gone outside after that, the need for fresh air in the face of this overwhelming reality pulling her along. She had leaned against the brick wall of her building, watched the stars spark and wink high above. And there he was, walking along the lonely sidewalk from Granny's, a yellowed halo surrounding him from the lights at the diner. He'd noticed her, moved to join her in quiet contemplation with a soft smile.

They didn't talk much – a few words here and there about Henry, about this new curse, about the stars and how he'd been taught to navigate by his brother. She wasn't sure if it was the chill seeping into her skin, or if he'd stepped closer himself, but her side was pressed to his, thigh against thigh, shoulder against his bicep. She'd never realized how small she was in comparison before, felt dwarfed by his figure for a moment. And she wanted to crawl inside, curl in his arms and inhale the warmth, the security. He was her only constant besides Henry.

They stared at each other, gazes locked. He'd turned to her, hook sliding up the leather covering her forearm. Her eyes had fluttered closed, heart skipped a beat, and she felt his breath fanning across her skin. Noses brushed, and lips met in a tentative embrace. Her hands smoothed up his chest, up and into his hair, cupping his jaw, pulling him closer.

It was shy, it was sweet, and it filled her with a glow that spread down to her toes. She'd moved closer, parted beneath him, breathed him in. His arms around her waist, teeth nipping at her lips, tongue swiping cautiously against her bottom lip. A whimper escaped her and she pressed closer, impossibly closer, tangled into him, molded to him, and his grasp tightened, secured around her like she'd disappear if he didn't hold on.

They'd walked away with soft smiles that night, the touch of lips a lingering sensation on her mouth.

-/-

The fourth time she'd been pushed up into a cupboard at Granny's. Henry had remembered, had fought with her, had calmed down. And she'd been feeling alone, feeling like she'd let her son down, and Killian had simply looked at her, pulled her by her arm to the back and kissed her like she was air and he was suffocating.

It was raw and full of heat, full of desperate longing and need. It was just what she'd needed, made her feel alive again in the midst of being so lost.

-/-

She was in a burning room, flames consuming the drapes that framed absent windows. She'd heard his voice from afar, a painful sound, so broken and sad. And all of a sudden she was breathing, gasping, fingers tightening in the sheets beneath her. She'd looked up, seen only a deep ocean blue and smiled, eyes wide with amazement.

'You saved me.'

A brilliant smile – so open and honest and  _relieved._

'Does that surprise you?'

 


	20. Post 3x14 Short

She has a hard time getting it out of her hear, the look in his eyes, the unflinching honesty. A long sigh breathes out and she lets her head fall forward, elbows propped up on the kitchen counter and fingers curled loosely around a mug of steaming hot cocoa. It's late and she can't sleep, a creeping feeling of guilt pricking at the back of her neck.

Why the hell should she feel guilty anyways? She had every  _right_  to want to marry Walsh, she was in  _love_ , she didn't even remember Hook! And yet it's still there, interwoven with that pleading look of his in front of the NYPD.

_Perhaps there's a man that you love in the life that you've lost._

"Mom? What are you doing up so late?"

Emma's head jerks up at her son's voice and suddenly a whole other kind of guilt fills her. She smiles at him shakily and motions for the stool next to her. He walks over, bare feet padding against the wood floorboards of the loft.

"Are you okay?"

She puts an arm around his shoulders and hugs him close, placing a kiss in his messy brown hair.

"I'm okay, kid. Promise."

He gives her a skeptical look and for a moment he looks so much like his father that it makes her heart squeeze painfully.

"You know you can tell me," he pauses, looking down at his hands as he fingers the edge of the counter absentmindedly. "Is this about Walsh?"

"What? No. No, it's not."

He looks up at her, expression so serious that she can hardy believe this is the same kid that found her in Boston three years ago and insisted she come save a cursed town full of fairy tale characters.

"You sure? Cause you're acting kind of weird. I mean, we left in a hurry. And you never told me what happened."

She squeezes his shoulder affectionately and looks at him from under her lashes as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

"I know. Sorry about that. It's just- well, he wasn't who I thought he was, kid."

Henry is silent, eyes searching his mother's like he's looking for a lie and she wonders briefly if she has the same look when she does it.

"I'm sorry, mom. I know you really liked him."

"No, it's fine. You know, I'm just glad I have you, Henry. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He grins at her and grabs her mug, taking a long chug and when he puts it back down there's whipped cream on his upper lip. She smiles and pulls the mug back, playfully admonishing him with a short 'Hey!' He's laughing and the sound warms her heart at the same time that it tugs at her, at the guilt. She wants to tell him, wants to let him have all of his family in his life but it's hard and she's still not sure it's the best thing right now. Not with a Wicked Witch terrorizing the town. He looks up at her again and his eyes are so big, so brown and sweet and warm and  _happy_. She grins back and pulls him in to lay a kiss on his forehead.

"I love you, kid."

He smiles up at her, a soft "Love you too, mom."

They sit like that for a while, sharing the rest of the cocoa between them in comfortable silence. It's quiet in the loft, the moonlight peeking in through the drawn blinds at the window. The only light they have on is the one hanging over their heads, a single large bulb tucked into a metal cradle, giving off a warm yellow glow that makes the small space feel homey. Henry sighs and Emma looks over at him, one brow quirked as she tries to fight back an amused smile.

"Yeah?"

"I was just thinking. What about that guy? Killian?"

Her breath catches in her throat and she swallows thickly, takes another sip of the now cooling cocoa.

"What about him?"

"You're not really here just to help him on a case."

"And what makes you think that, huh?"

He shrugs and lightly elbows her side. "You don't look at him like he's a client. And he  _really_  doesn't look at you like one. He likes you, mom."

"Yeah, but I can't do that Henry."

He frowns. "Why not?"

"Because…" She sighs and looks at him pleadingly, fingers intertwining with his. "It's complicated."

He squeezes her hand back, looks her right in the eye steadily and quirks the edge if his mouth up. "Mom. It's okay. You're allowed to try and be happy. I want you to."

Emma's expression softens and she just stares at her son in amazement, at this wise, clever, mature kid she has and she can hardly believe how lucky she is to have him in her life.

"Thanks, kid. I'll think on it."


	21. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a graphic from Tumblr with Emma haunting Hook in the year that was lost.

The ship groans, waves crashing against the hull as he lies in the narrow cot, feet propped up against the shelving beneath the windows. He takes another swig from his flask, the memory of shared drinks, of her lips on his, a soft broken smile, a gentle and quiet voice.

He throws the flask across the room, the sound of shattering glass indicating he’s hit the lantern hung on the wall. It wasn’t lit so he doesn’t spare it a glance as he covers his eyes with his forearm.

_You and I, we understand each other._

_Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt, right?_

“Swan, you were bloddy wrong.”

Killian sighs and swings his legs over the edge of the bed and leans his elbows on his knees, fingers rubbing circles at the bridge of his nose.

“I was right and you know it, Hook.”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t even move at the sound of her voice.

“You’re not real. You’re not here.”

“But I am.”

“Then how can you be speaking to me!? You’re happy, Emma! You’re safe with your lad, you cannot possibly be here!”

He’s on his feet, chest heaving with ragged breaths as his eyes flash at her, at this ghost of his Swan. Her hair is down, long golden waves that fall past her shoulders and whisper against the fabric of her dress. She looks a vision and he’s certain it’s not her, not really, because how can she be here, how can she be dressed like that when he _knows_ she’d never had the chance to. But her expression is sad, full of loneliness, and all he wants to do is wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she smiles into him, until the pain washes from her features.

He stays where he is instead.

Her dress is feathered at the arms, long white fabric slipping against itself elegantly. He can’t help the small smirk that tilts his lips as he regards her standing before him.

“You look like a proper princess, lass.”

Her smile is distant and she’s flickering in and out of focus, phasing before his very eyes.

“This was the life I was meant for, but it was ripped away before I ever had a chance to live it…”

He walks by her to slump into his desk chair, avoids looking into her eyes as he does. He’s tired, so very tired and he needs rest. He’s cannot handle this right now, not with her so far away, not this projection. He wonders briefly if he’s finally gone mad.

“What do you want of me?”

She shifts, glides towards him and kneels at his feet, cold fingers wrapping around his as she looks up at him with those large green eyes, deep as the sea.

“Save me.”

“Pardon?”

“Hook, you have to come find me. You have to save me.”

He pulls his hand away and leans back in the chair, breath caught in his throat at the pleading look on her face.

“Swan-“

“You have to!”

And suddenly the room is cold and distant and she’s moving forward, skin cold as ice as she leans in and presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss. But she leans back only an inch or two, looks deep into his eyes.

“Save me.”

She disappears into the salty sea air.


	22. Untitled 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> naiariddle said: Hook watch over Emma and Henry while they sleep
> 
> anonymous asked: Could you maybe write something fluffy for CS? I don't know... perhaps Emma talks in her sleep and Killian finds it endearing? Or Killian's having a rough/tiring day and Emma tries to cheer him up? Oooor perhaps a new curse breaks them apart (again!) but this time it is Emma who finds Killian? :)

Her back is curled into him, gold hair fanning out like a halo around her head, one arm slung over the stomach of her son as he snores lightly on his back, hands flung above his head as though he'd simply been dropped on there. Killian can't help the smile that crosses his features, the bright hopeful happiness that wells up inside at the sight of them.

He'd never expected to end up like this, taking a mid morning nap with his family –  _his family –_ without a care in the world. They had woken up early to Henry dropping something in the kitchen, but soon enough breakfast had been made, the mess of eggs cleaned up from the floor, and the waffles scarfed down with enthusiasm.

"Killiammmph…"

Her voice floats away in her sleep, soft and childlike in its innocence and he loves it, loves this unguarded side of her. Henry shifts, snuggling closer to his mother as he mumbles something unintelligible. Killian leans back into the pillows, arm stretched out beneath his love and his child's heads, and the slow breathing, the stealthy rhythm of Emma's heartbeat, lulling him to sleep.


	23. Bangarang Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some kinky PWP smut. Don't mind me. I miss sex is all. TW: breath play, bondage, hook play. And remember, everything here is consensual.

The bite of the rope on her skin sends a thrill through her, spiking all the way down to her core and back up again to the ends of her hair. Emma lies naked and prone on the bed, the sheets stripped away to give Killian unrestricted access for the afternoon. It was a bet, and honestly she should have known better than to play dice with him, but he'd won regardless and here she was, arms stretched back, upper arms tied together all the way down to her wrists. She wriggles again. Not enough slack to get out of.

It doesn't matter anyway. After all, she has bigger things to worry about than being able to get out of these knots on her own. Killian is still sitting in the chair at the desk in her room – their room – the laces of his trousers undone enough for his cock to rest comfortably. His eyes are fixed on her, scanning every inch of visible skin only to settle at the apex of her thighs as he rubs the stubble of his jaw. She tries to pull her legs together, but each ankle is attached to the spreader bar he'd brought with him – god knows she doesn't even want to think about who he got it from – leaving little room to maneuver. He'd asked her to shave, a bare cunt something he'd grown rather fond of after their first time.

'Gods Emma, I can see everything. Bloody hell.'

She shivers at the memory of his lips on her, fingers pumping in and out, teeth nipping at her clit playfully. It's almost enough to make her beg right then, but she bites her lip and stares back at him, at the slow grin that stretches across his lips at the sight of her.

He doesn't have a shirt on, only the trousers and boots as well as an unbuckled belt. The straps that hold his hook in place crisscross over his chest, and her eyes can't help but follow the line of hair as it trials down and dips beneath his naval as it disappears.

"Like what you see, love?"

She grins, wicked and playful and she just knows he's going to make it his mission to wipe that smile off her face but she can't help but goad him on.

"Depends. Is there anything else besides the look? Cause I'm not sure you can handle this."

He chuckles, low and seductive, and it shoots another bolt right through her. He stands up, rolling his shoulders as he slowly stalks towards her, teeth bared in something that might resemble a smile where he not fingering the tip of his hook as well.

"Oh, Emma darling. I can assure you, you are the one who won't be able to handle this."

He leans down over her, body heat invading her space and she arches towards him as much as she can, seeking out his skin. His lips brush against the skin beneath her ear, his voice soft and sweet, breaking character for just a moment.

"Remember, any moment you wish me to stop, love, just say the word we agreed upon."

She nods quickly and he pulls back with a smirk, expression smug once more as his fingers skim across her stomach, a trail of gooseflesh rising in his wake. He's always able to do that, make her react to the barest of touches. In the three weeks they've been together he's managed to perfect it to an art, a seemingly innocent touch here, a brush of the thighs there, a whispered word during dinner with her parents and she's shoving him into their room the moment they're alone. He calls her insatiable. She calls him relentless.

The cool curve of his hook nudges against her inner thigh and she gasps, attempting to wriggle up further towards the headboard but he simply grabs hold of her throat and pulls her back to him, sliding the metal between the lips of her pussy, coating it in a layer of her juices. He chuckles again, fingers flexing over her neck as he looks down.

"Already so eager? We've only just begun, Emma." His voice is mock chastising and she wants to laugh, but his grip is cutting off enough air that she needs to focus on her breathing, a slight panic rising in her as she stares up at him. His brows furrow and his fingers loosen their hold, allowing her to breathe in deeply once more.

"Emma?"

"I'm fine. I promise. I'm fine."

His answering smile is soft, but then he's back to playing her like an instrument, head dipping down to take a puckered nipple between his teeth and sucking hard. She whines, pressing herself more fully against his face as he shuffles onto the bed, one leg between her thighs and the other at her side. His hook travels lightly up her torso, a delicate thin red line following as he slips the metal under the ropes that cross under her breasts – really she doesn't know when he learned to make a rope harness but she's certainly not complaining at the moment as he uses it to heave her towards him more, maneuver her the way he likes.

She moans as he rolls her free nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and twisting just at the edge of painful, but all it does is make her chest tighten in anticipation, lungs gasping for more. He pulls back, releasing her with a slick pop and leaning back on his legs. He pulls her forward with him into a sitting position, pushes her legs underneath her so she's kneeling and then tugs her to bend over. She can't keep herself upright, face rubbing against the leather of his trousers almost pathetically, but he seems to be enjoying it as he laughs down at her. She mouths at him through the thick material, tries to nip him as best she can but he's pulling back enough to slip out his half hardened cock, sliding it against her lips as she opens obediently.

"There's a good girl. Suck, darling. I do like seeing you on your knees for me."

Emma pulls him in, tongue swirling over the silken flesh, moaning with her lips wrapped around him. She hollows out her cheeks and swallows him, feeling him grow harder in her mouth as his hand tangles in her hair. He's in control now and she can't help but try to rub her thighs together, anything to relieve the tension between her legs because this, this is what she agreed to and she's loving it more and more as he takes his time with her, pushing her down on him and forcing her to gag before pulling her back again. Her head is swimming, her lips and tongue trying to keep up with him as he fucks her mouth in earnest for a while, grunting deeply, fingers painful at her scalp.

All it does is add fuel to the fire already burning inside her. She pushes forward, swallowing as she does, knocking him off balance and he grins down as she slides off of him with a pop. He turns her around, manhandles her so she's splayed across hi lap and really she has no idea how he ended up sitting beneath her but the thought spins away as the first hit smacks against her ass hard. She cries out and his hold on her waist tightens.

"Now, now, there was no need to interrupt me, love. All I asked was for you to take it, but I suppose you're much too-" SMACK! "-eager to wait."

Tears gather at the corners of her eyes and she's gasping, lungs filling with harsh pulls as he continues to spank her. It's wrong, really. This shouldn't feel so good to her. Despite the pain there is an underlying pleasure in being so at his mercy, in being punished by his hand. She knows it's wrong, knows it's not supposed to be so hot but it is. She has a sneaking suspicion it's only because it's Killian doing it, that deep understanding that he would never truly do anything to hurt her, that he's in tune enough to know when to stop.

And he does.

His calloused hand feels smooth on her bare ass as he rubs it over. It's a tender action, one she thrives in for the moment, humming contentedly in his arms. He gives her left cheek a light squeeze and a moan slips out of her mouth, heat rushing through her veins and settling at her core.

"Are you going to behave?"

She wriggles on his lap, tries to push her rear more firmly into his palm and whimpers out a nearly pathetic, "Yes…"

Killian lifts her, places her on her back over the mattress and leans down to brush his lips sweetly against hers. She strains forward, opening her mouth more fully and tongue dancing against his eagerly. He tastes almost sweet, a hint of chocolate and the nearly imperceptible spice of rum in the corners of his teeth. Slowly, ever so slowly, he begins to rest some of his weight on her and the press against the mattress makes her groan into him, but he swallows her sounds, good hand threading into the hair behind her ear and thumb brushing lovingly against her cheek. Their hearts are against their ribcages, so fast and staccatoed that she's sure there's something wrong with them but it feels too good to stop. It's a flush of heat and buoyancy that makes the whole world light up around her, makes everything feel right. And then he's pulling away and she's whimpering her protest until he shoves three fingers into her cunt harshly and twists.

Her entire body curls in on itself as he pumps in and out in quick, deep thrusts, mouth agape in the sensations that wrack through her. She doesn't notice him take a nipple into his mouth until he's sucking on it hard, rolling it between his teeth and forcing her to arch into him.

"Oh god, oh god, Killian, oh god!" She feels like an idiot but it's all she's able to say, her entire mind blank as he curves his fingers up, brushing against that rough pad of flesh inside her that makes her scream. It feels like forever, right on the precipice, but he pulls back just before she falls and she kind of wants to wring his neck for denying her the release.

It's the third time, her body shaking in anticipation right before he leaves her again, that she shouts at him angrily, a harsh sound without words, eyes blazing at him as he just laughs outright at her. He is just loving her discomfort isn't he?

"No one said it would be easy, Swan."

"Please, please, just fuck me, please Killian!"

His hand dips to his trousers, pulling the belt free and wrapping it around her throat lightly. She shivers, that hint of fear coming back, just the smallest pinprick of panic as he stares at her silently, carefully, gauging her reaction. She just nods a little, licks her lips, and feels the belt tighten enough that it's a little harder to breathe. He pulls her up then and lays her on her stomach, forcing her face into the pillows, her ass in the air, and kicking her legs further apart until she's about to fall. And then he's there, pushing forward easily because she is just dripping for him and he groans in appreciation as his cock slips in with one move. He stills and they both savor the feeling of her wrapped around him, muscles pulsating around him faintly as she tries not to cum. He leans down, pulling her up by her hair as he whispers roughly into her ear.

"Do not cum until I say so. You are to ask for permission, understand Swan?"

She makes a small affirmative sound in the back of her throat, bent at an angle that has the belt digging into the skin of her scalp and lower neck. He lets her go and her face is buried again in the pillows, her arms stretched behind her in their binds. His hook catches on one of the ropes, using it as leverage as he rears back and shoves back in.

She cries out, tears stinging her eyes again because it's too much and it's not enough and she need to cum. It's a string of pleading that leaves her and it doesn't stop, not while he pounds into her like a savage, the bed shaking with them as her face gets smooshed into the sheets harder and harder. She's crying, she knows it, but it feels so good.

He tells her to cum, grunts it out as he thrusts in hard a few more times and she's tumbling, sobbing out her gratitude and trembling in his arms. But he's not done, and when her senses come back to her she realizes he's still inside her, moving so slowly that she can feel every glorious inch, every ridge and curve and smooth silky bit of flesh grinding into her.

This time the build is slow, a burning that spreads all the way to her toes as she rocks back against him, moans his name. He's praising her, muttering words of good girl and how debauched she looks spread before him, impaled on his cock and begging like a common wench. But really it's the moment he leans forward again, chest dragging against her bound arms and ass, good hand palming at her breast as he whispers a rough and possessive "Mine" that she comes undone again, limbs entirely too weak to hold her up anymore and she collapses with him on top of her, her vision sparking white hot and her mind falling away as he thrusts frantically into her, seizing up as he fills her and falls to her side.

He pulls her against him, quickly undoing the primary knot around her arms and letting them fall free, rope all around. She snuggles close, nose buried in his chest hair as she listens to his stuttering heartbeat.

"I love you," he murmurs into her hair, and she can only hum her reciprocation, curling further against him despite the spreader bars still attached to her ankles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review?


	24. Untitled 03

He was being stupid and unbelievably reckless.She couldn't let him know why it bothered her so much.

He probably knew anyway. He always did.

Emma stalked into the apartment, fuming, as Killian came in after her. His hand reached for her arm but she pulled away, a motion so sharp it had her hair spinning about her like an avenging angel. (She was always so beautiful, even when she was angry.)

"Emma–"

"No. Just stop. You shouldn't have done that! You could have been killed and then were would we be!?"

"Emma I had no–"

"Yes you did!" And she's walking up to him, pushing on his chest roughly as he stumbles back. She can see the change in him the second it happens. He's no longer sorry, only annoyed and she's glad because she needs to fight with him right now.

"What would you have had me do, then? Allow that bloody snow monster to crush you before my eyes? You'd have me simply let you get hurt when I could have done something to prevent it?"

"YES!"

The color rises on his cheeks and it would be rather handsome if he wasn't so angry at the moment. As it is he's pushing her forward, invading her space, trying to intimidate her into letting the issue go as he hisses back,

"If you honestly believe I would allow anything to happen to you in my stead then you really don't understand what this is."

She holds his gaze defiantly, even as her heart stutters because she almost lost him today.

"No. I don't think I do."

She can see the frustration boiling over and he's stalking away, ready to slam the door and be done with it all. She hears him mutter something about intolerable siren, and then she's reaching for him, tears stinging her eyes because she almost lost him today.

"I-I can't, Killian." And it sounds weak and pathetic even to her own ears.

He's stopped walking but he won't look at her, won't even turn around. She can feel his muscles tense where her fingers are wrapped around his arm, even through the thick leather of his jacket, and she just needs to see him, just needs him to understand.

Even if it scares the hell out of her.

"You can't what, Swan?"

She takes a deep breath, summoning all the courage she has because while she may have fought dragons and witches and monsters, he's still the most terrifying thing she's ever known.

"I can't lose you."


	25. Bluebird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what's wrong with me either.

The morning light is filtering through the curtains, patterns tacking over the covers and their skin as her eyes flutter open.

It's been years now, happy and content with a family. They no longer live in the apartment over the water, having long ago purchased a full house with a wrap around porch and a swing set just off the water. They wanted to be near the water. (Henry was the one who found the house.)

And now she pushes herself up into a sitting position in their large bed, her white hair tangled and falling over her shoulders. She's long since grown old and wrinkled, and yet he still tells her every day how beautiful she looks to him. She sighs, and looks over at his sleeping form. His hair is streaked with gray, the sharp edges of his features weathered into rounded corners and soft lines. He's still so beautiful, so handsome, and her heart stutters in her chest, even now.

She doesn't want to wake him just yet, so she gingerly slips out from between the covers, her nightgown falling to her knees. It's become more and more difficult over the years to walk about, but she persists, making her way into the kitchen to put on some coffee for the both of them. Humming to herself, she walks towards the large bay windows and sits on the edge of the cushioned sill. It's bright outside, birds flitting about from tree to tree and chirping joyously in their routine. She remembers her grandchildren – their grandchildren – running about in the yard near the water, laughing and splashing each other in the hot summer sun. They're all grown up now, soon to have children of their own and Emma smiles at that, happy for her children, Henry and Etta, more than she could ever express. Emma sits there for some time until she hears the coffee finish brewing, and then she's carefully walking back into their bedroom, slipping into bed again and leaning over his form.

She loves this man with all her heart, and she smiles softly at him as he slumbers, remembering the look of amazement on his face when he first held their little girl in his arms. (She was such a daddy's girl.)

"Killian. Wake up." She says it with a smile, dipping down to place a gentle kiss on his lips.

His skin is cold and a panic seizes her like only once before. Not yet.

"Killian. Please wake up."

She shakes his shoulder, his head lolling from side to side with the movement. Leaning forward again, she kisses him in full, her curtain of white tendrils flowing around them, glowing in the morning light.

"Please don't leave me. Not yet."

He doesn't answer and she rests her head against his chest, snuggling into his side as well as her old bones will allow.

She doesn't hear his heartbeat.

She doesn't leave him for hours, not until Etta walks in that evening, not until Henry comes after her call, not after her grandchildren gather around her and hold her steady.

She doesn't leave him. She promised herself she never would again.


	26. Something Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt for Killian to reveal something about his past that Emma didn't know.

He doesn't say anything when she walks over to him, sitting down on the grassy slope overlooking the bay. He doesn't even move, really. Emma just watches him, aware that his earlier outburst must have had it's reason, must have been more than his growing affection for Henry. She lets him have his silence for a few moments, eyes scanning the strong line of his jaw, noting how he keeps clenching and unclenching, the muscles jumping attractively.

"So you want to tell me what that was all about?"

He doesn't respond, only keeps his gaze steady on the sea.

"Killian-"

"Long ago, when I was with Milah, she told me I was a father."

Emma didn't say anything. She couldn't really, with all the breath from her lungs having been sucked out suddenly.

"He died in childbirth, my lad."

At this he turns to her, blue eyes dark with grief as he catches hers, steady and unflinching in the memory of such a loss. She can't even imagine. So she does the only thing she can think to do in that moment. She scoots a little closer, her fingers entwining with his as she takes his hand.

"I'm sorry."

His smile is weak and it hurts her to see such a helpless expression on his face, to know that there's nothing that can soothe that kind of pain.

"I thought I was going to lose Henry too."

And her eyes are stinging with the tears all of a sudden, but she won't let them fall because she needs to be strong for him right now, in this singular moment. He needs her to be his rock this time. (He loves her son almost as much as she does and it makes her so much more sure of this thing they have together.) She moves just a little closer still, thigh brushing against thigh, shoulder against shoulder as she lays her head in the crook of his neck, looking out over the water again.

"We won't lose him. We'll protect him no matter what."


	27. Untitled 04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For lefty-blue on Tumblr, because she wanted smut centered around the pendents Killian wears. (More feelsy than smutty. Sorryy.)

She's not sure why but today that damned necklace of his is driving her insane. She can see the silver of the chain as it peeks out from beneath the collar of his shirt, can trace the impression of it as it dips under the first button. They're finally alone in the Inn when she corners him, stretching up onto her toes and coaxing a kiss from his lips.

He's not hesitant, not anymore. His fingers thread through her hair, his handless arm slipping around her waist and lifting her against him. He's all sharp angles and hard muscle and it pushes a moan out of her lungs, nothing but the anticipation of skin on skin and losing herself. But he's always had that effect on her. (From the way he's almost desperately rutting against her, she seems to have the same on him.)

It's a blur of bodies crashing into walls and tables and suddenly she finds herself in his room, her shirt near the door and Killian leaning over her on the bed, his lips seeking a specific spot just beneath her jaw that makes her writhe. Her fingers are gripping his biceps through the thick leather of his jacket, her right leg curved around the back of his thigh and pulling him closer. His good hand is right at the hem of her jeans, fingers inching in and grazing the soft skin of her ass as he pushes himself bodily into her.

It's desperate, and Emma wouldn't have him any other way right now. He's everything she needs in a moment of certainty and she's determined to show him as much. So she unhooks her leg from his, shoves back on his shoulders and flips him over, grinding her hips down as she settles above him in triumph. His eyes are blazing, hair in a state of complete disarray. He looks wrecked and they haven't even really started yet, but she's certain she looks the same.

His jacket comes off in a rush, then his shirt and she's finally able to touch him, to feel him. Emma smooths a path down his chest, nails scratching lightly as she hooks her fingers under his belt buckle. Leaning down, she brushes her lips against his, allows him to inch her sweater off her body, and leans back. It's the stretch and pull of muscle, the drag of fabric on skin, the clink of belts being undone and boots falling to the floor and soon enough they're both stripped bare, her hair falling around them like a golden curtain as she settles against his chest, fingers gripping the chain of his necklace tight and pulling his mouth to hers. She's soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the sting of metal digging into skin and he feels so powerless in her wake. She's a storm, uncontrollable and devastating and he can't get enough.

But she slips down his body, tongue tracing the line of his necklace and kisses skimming down his chest. His breath catches in his chest when she licks a solid line up his cock, the purple head slipping between her lips and down her throat. She hums happily, sucking in her cheeks and circling her tongue over his tip. He's trying so hard not to thrust up into her, to control himself, and she loves this power she has over him. It makes her a little drunk to use it like this.

"Gods, Emma."

"Mmmm?"

Her eyes shift up to his and he thinks he's going to melt completely. Her soft pink lips are wrapped around his base, mossy green eyes fixed on his, twinkling in amusement. It's like the world is falling apart around him, sparks bursting through his veins and his vision spotting out. She swallows every last drop, licks her lips and crawls back up his body, kissing him deeply. His taste is on her tongue and she's intoxicating.

As soon as he catches his breath he has her rolled over, his nips and bites becoming more insistent as he moves over her jaw and down her neck, good hand sliding down her ribs. She's soaking, slithering and whimpering under him as he explores. He loves this woman more than life itself, loves coaxing those sweet sounds from her breath, making her pant and writhe and squirm for him. (He wants to believe he's the only one who can do this to her, but the thought is terrifying and doubt still eats away at the edges of his mind.)

Her dusty pink nipples are so sensitive, so he nibbles and sucks, twists the other in his fingers and sighs against her. The blush in her cheeks seeps down lower over her breasts and it's such a charming color on her. (He tells her as much and the color deepens.)

It's not long until he's stiff again, but he's so busy pumping his fingers in and out of her, eyes fixed on her features as she gets high around him, falling and begging, whispering words of need and desire. But her ankle comes out and hooks around his lower back, pulling him to her and they still at the heat between them, the searing need to be one. Emma's the one that breaks the silence, pulling him down by his necklace and kissing him hard. He sinks into her, warm and inviting and so incredibly right.

Through the whole ebb and flow she doesn't let go of him, keeps her fingers wrapped around that chain, the pendants leaving imprints in her palm. And when they finally reach the edge, the fall together, wrapped around each other.


	28. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Hook deal with some of their issues after returning from the Underworld.

It’s been days since they got back from the Underworld, and Killian has yet to truly look her in the eyes again. He’s been spending the nights on his ship, taking lunch dates with her regularly and entertaining Henry with farfetched stories of piracy and mayhem. He even tells the boy about Liam, about meeting him again and seeing Milah. He tells him about the two most important people he has ever lost, and he does it with an affection that stays with Henry.

And yet he can’t seem to look her in the eye.

He doesn’t talk to her father either, although the two had grown closer before his death – before his first death, that is – and her mother simply smiles when Emma asks if she’s seen anything out of the ordinary with him.

“It’s going to take some time, Emma. He’s been through a lot.”

Intellectually, she knows that, but something in her stays restless until her fingers can slip through his, until her lips brush soft against soft, scruff tickling her chin and cheeks.

Has she mentioned he hasn’t kissed her yet either?

The last time was when she found him again, suffering in the deep dark world of death, regret and pain and sorrow washing over him even as Liam tried to pull him up, to tell him they were here, that he was going home. He’d seen her face and the first thing he’d done was slip his palms across her cheeks, fingers buried in her hair as he nearly _devoured her._ It was a desperate sort of kiss, like he wasn’t sure she was real, like he was afraid that if he let go for even a second, she would disappear like smoke and float away.

She’d spent every moment after that reassuring him he was wrong, never letting go of his hand. Until, that is, he pulled away and went back to his ship to sleep.

So now she sits in her kitchen, her eyes roaming sightlessly over the scattered video games in the living room, cereal boxes strewn across the counter.

She needs to buy milk for Henry.

The knock on the front door wakes her from her stupor, and she goes to answer. Killian’s tall frame fills quite a bit of the doorway, the light behind him casting his features in shadow. He smells like sea salt and she finds herself leaning in immediately, wanting that smell to envelope her.

His eyes are dark, but he’s far from angry. He looks rather sad in fact.

“We need to talk, Swan.”

She lets him in and motions towards the dining room table.

Once he’s settled in, he fiddles with the tip of his hook, a somewhat nervous habit she’s noticed in him when he feels uncomfortable with the situation. (Something different from his bashful ear scratch. She misses that.)

“I’m not going to say I wouldn’t do it again, Killian.”

He looks up, almost startled, but quickly schools his expression into something more serious. Something that doesn’t give him away.

“Is that so?”

She pulls her chair out and sits gingerly on the edge of her seat. Her palms are sweaty, her fingers shaking, but she has to get through this, has to say it so he understands.

“Yeah. If I had to do it all over again, I would. I wouldn’t let you die like that.”

His eyes are hardening and he’s leaning back, almost like he wants to get away from her, and she can see the betrayal fresh in his expression no matter how much he wants to hide it. He could never really lie to her.

“But I would change one thing.” His eyebrow rises slightly. “I wouldn’t lie to you about the sword. I wouldn’t hide it from you or use it, even by accident. That’s what I regret, Killian, because that is what really broke your trust. And I’m sorry for that.”

The tension in his shoulders releases as she finishes, and his expression softens into something akin to affection. She hopes to god he understands what she means, because the truth is that she wouldn’t be okay without him. Not him. Not anymore. She needs him just as much as he needs her.

“I’m sorry as well.”

“For what?”

His voice is hoarse now, strained like he’s beating himself to say the words. “The things I said to you, the things I did, they were unforgivable. I can’t take them back. And even if you hadn’t lied to me about Excalibur, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have still done the same. I wasn’t strong, Emma. I let go far too quickly.”

She leans forward and pulls his hand towards her from across the table, thumb rubbing soothing patterns into his worn skin even as her eyes prick with fresh tears. (She could have sworn she was all cried out after stabbing him through.)

“It’s okay. I forgive you.”

And she means it. Every time she looks at him she hears those words again and again, and it hurts, but it’s not the only thing she sees. She hears every kind thing he’s ever said to her too, hears him telling her it’s okay even as she’s running a sword through him, even as he’s bleeding out on the floor of Granny’s, in the meadow surrounded by flowers, on the banks of the pond. Always reassuring her that it’s going to be all right, that she can do it, that he believes in her.

And it kills her, because the one time he truly needed her to believe in him too, she lied instead.

The tears are hot on her cheeks, her vision blurry as she sobs openly, clutching his hand with all her might. He doesn’t flinch, just gets up and walks around the table to pull her into his arms as best he can. She keeps apologizing, over and over into his neck as he rocks her back and forth.

She doesn’t realize he’s crying too until she feels a foreign tear fall on her shoulder and slide down across her skin. All she smells is sea salt and leather and warmth, but she lets go of his hand and pulls his face down to hers and kisses him so softly it’s more like a whisper than anything else.

“I’m so sorry, Emma. My Emma.”

“I love you.”


End file.
